A Still Small Voice
by tarpeach1981
Summary: As Natasha went about her missions, the silence was broken only by a voice from above...that never shut up. A drabble about the mischief Clint is capable of with nothing but open-link comm equipment and time on his hands. T to be safe. Hints of potential romance.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I have had this stuck in my head all day, imagining the mischief Clint could get up with the comms on missions. Hope you like this completely random bit of playfulness. I self-edited, forgive me for any sloppy errors. Switches between Nat and Clint's perspective. Thoughts in italics, singing in bold italics.**

**Disclaimer: I own many things, some useful, some not, but I don't own any of the characters, situations, or places I have played with in this story. But oh, to dream.**

**&%&%**

**A Still Small Voice**

"How long did it take you to master it?" There was a soft thunk following the questions as Clint extended his collapsible bow. He peered over the lip of the roof, down to the hotel room where his conversational partner was positioned.

"Six months." There was a slight delay between the movement of her bright red lips and the sound of Natasha's voice in his comm_. At least she was playing along. They had been working missions together for several months now, and she had finally started responding to his continuous sarcastic commentary and inquiry._

"Not a chance. There is no way you can assimilate that much in that amount of time." Clint knew that would get her. She loved proving him wrong. _This was even more entertaining than baiting Coulson._

**&%&%**

"Americans, always believing their world to be beyond the understanding of their enemies." Natasha moved around the room, making sure that she knew the layout and its obstacles as if her life depended on it, as it just might.

"I sense a challenge, Nat." She could almost see the smirk that was dripping from his words. "Care to prove your mastery?" Natasha sighed, knowing that she would play his game. The incessant chatter which had infuriated her during their initial partnership had become an almost soothing reassurance of his vigilance. _He even managed to amuse her from time to time._

"Rules?" She looked at her watch. Only a few minutes before her mark was scheduled to arrive. She placed two glasses out, iced the champagne, and tucked the liquid sedative just beneath her bra strap.

"Interesting hiding place, Agent." He chuckled as she made a rude gesture in the direction of the window. "So, where were we? Ah, rules. American Pop Culture for 500. I give a clue, you give me the reference."

"Jeopardy," she said immediately, just to irritate him. "And when exactly am I supposed to complete this little assessment? He is due any moment."

"Well, you did say you wanted a challenge."

**&%&%**

Clint began snicker as a not-so-quiet oath was muttered by the beautiful red-head he had in his sights.

"Yes, my dear Tasha, I am indeed an ass, but I am a smart one." He saw the tilt of her lips as she fought to conceal her amusement at his antics. _Lord, but he loved the challenge of amusing her._

The knock at the door pulled her focus back to the task at hand. Just before she reached the door, she turned back to the wall of windows and winked. "Challenge accepted."

He watched as the door was opened to reveal their target, who looked to be getting quite an eyeful as she let her hands wander over her well-displayed curves. She stepped back to let him enter.

Clint's ear was soon filled flirtatious banter, as the gun-runner's valet began to regale her with tales of his recent travels. _Damn. She didn't even have to ask, men just stumbled over themselves to give her intel. _He decided to throw her a curve ball, see how well she played it.

"First question. This will be a musical clue. _**I just want your extra time and your kiss**__._" Clint sang horribly off-key, making kissing sounds into his microphone.

**&%&%**

The valet had just gushed over her beauty, and she giggled and tapped him on the shoulder. "Well, aren't you just a PRINCE."

"Good call. You may just ace this test, after all."

Between the blathering of this hopelessly clueless lackey and the whispers of her puckish partner, Natasha was quite occupied, but she had to admit that this was making this rather bland assignment much more entertaining.

Clint had gone silent for a few moments, but soon she heard him pick up again in a horrible falsetto. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home."

With timing so perfect, she could have kissed him (or maybe not, with the deadly breath of his), the valet began boasting of how he played a powerful role in his boss's household. She looked into his eyes, feigning the awe and admiration he was looking for. "I feel like Dorothy meeting the Wizard of Oz. You have such an important job." The dazzled man didn't even twitch at the randomness of her response as she shifted closer and placed her hand on his chest.

"Well done. I thought I would get you with that one," he chuckled.

**&%&%**

Clint allowed a brief respite to her quizzing as she pumped the fool for the movements, locations, meet schedules, and opposition numbers. When all the information needed had been extracted and the boy was starting to get a lot more handsy than Clint appreciated, Natasha stood up and strolled seductively to the bar. She poured the champagne, slipping the drug into the valet's glass.

"Let's see, Question #3, that's where we left off, yes? Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." He smiled, hoping that this throwback reference would stump her.

Natasha toasted the evening, encouraging the poor schlub to drink by taking two long sips. "I probably shouldn't drink this champagne too quickly," she purred, "my inhibitions will be Gone with the Wind." _Well, hell, so much for getting her with an oldie._

She walked back over to the couch, leaving herself open for the sloppy advances of the moron. He was already showing signs of the drug. He was drooling all over her neck, but his head suddenly seemed a bit loose on his neck.

"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti." He even made the slurping sound, but he ruined menacing quality of the line with a quiet snicker.

**&%&%**

Natasha rolled her eyes in Clint's direction as she pushed the nearly-unconscious boy off of her neck, looking him in his heavy-lidded eyes. "What ever is wrong, darling. You're as Silent as a Lamb!" Thankfully, he was too far gone to notice the lack of sincerity or true concern in her question. He fell soundlessly to the side a moment later.

"You are lucky I give points for partial answers. Now that he is out of the way, let's continue!" She pinched her lips as she tried not to offer Clint an encouraging laugh. She patted pockets, looking for anything useful.

"My name is Inigo Montoya.."

She cut him off quickly, "…You killed my father, prepare to die. Princess Bride." She even used the accent. She huffed noisily as she rolled the limp body over, splashing a bit of the champagne on his shirt and positioning him with a bottle tucked in his arm. Checking the room, she once again faced the windows. "Ready to concede to my mastery?" she asked, eyebrow quirked.

**&%&%**

"Last question, as you have about two minutes before you are meeting me on the roof for extraction. Musical clue once again. _**Took my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry**__._"

This time Natasha didn't hide from him her cringe at the tuneless singing. She simply slipped out the door of the room and up the stairs.

There was a pause, and as Clint slid down the zip-line to the roof, he was thinking perhaps he had actually stumped her.

She slipped soundlessly out of the roof access door and sauntered over to him with a small smile. Patting him softly on the cheek, she walked to the just-landed helicopter and climbed on, and turned back to him with a victorious grin.

"The day you actually baffle me, Agent Barton, that truly will be the Day the Music Died."

**A/N: I don't have anything planned, but I would love to continue the banter. I would love to hear any requests for situations you would like to read. As always, I hope to hear from you! Thanks so much for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A Still Small Voice**

**A/N: I am floored. I did not expect such an awesome response to my first drabble. I always get nervous when writing humor, as you can never be sure if your jokes are indeed funny or if you are a bit daft and no one will get it. Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and all those favs/alerts. They make me dance and sing with giddy, and they make me write more. Hint.**

**No editing, I will kick myself for errors later.**

**Singing in bold italics.**

**Chapter 2**

#&#&

December, Middle of Nowhere, Columbia

There were few missions that were as boring and tedious as the establishing of a safe house, but the one upside was trading off sleep shifts. No need for them both to be sleep deprived as they went about stocking the small house for its esteemed guest, expected to arrive in days. As Natasha settled in to her luxurious bed, a cot with moldy mattress and a moth eaten blanket, she ran through the list of items she had still to procure from the local sellers…a car battery, chains, and a large tub…just as the interrogator's list was lulling her into a semi-restful sleep, she was startled by a discordant screech that caused her to bolt upright.

For a moment, Natasha believed that they must be under attack, but as the haze of sleep quickly slipped her mind, she became aware that the screeching was actually consisting of words being sung loudly and horribly off-pitch.

_**Blame it all on my roots  
I showed up in boots  
And ruined your black tie affair  
The last one to know  
The last one to show  
I was the last one  
You …**_

"Barton, what are you doing?" Her voice was exceptionally calm, a warning to anyone who knew her well, and the only person who did cut off mid-chord to answer her.

"My dear Natasha, I am simply ensuring that I remain alert as possible as I keep watch during your sleep shift. It isn't easy keeping my wits about me out here…In the dark, alone. Surely you wouldn't deny me this one comfort?" The man had the worst poker voice ever. Natasha could hear the smirk in his voice.

"You apparently overestimate my generosity, Agent." There was potential violence dripping from her words.

"Okay, okay, if you stand down, I promise…I know! I will take your next guard mission. I know you hate to babysit. Can't I just enjoy a good song?" Now he was getting whiny. Might as well let him get his way. As long as she was getting something out of it. Just to make sure he didn't think she was a push-over, she upped the offer, not worrying that he would agree.

"Two. The next two. Because that song is an offense to the art of music, at least when you sing it." Natasha rolled over as he began to warble again, and she tried desperately to tune out the auditory torture being transmitted straight into her ear.

_**'Cause I've got friends in low places  
Where the whiskey drowns  
And the beer chases my blues away  
And I'll be okay  
I'm not big on social graces  
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis  
Oh, I've got friends in low places**_

#&#&

March, Havana

_**Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl  
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there  
She would merengue and do the cha-cha  
And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar**_

Natasha stopped abruptly, turning away from the computer she was currently hacking to give an arch look in the direction of her tone-deaf partner. "Is that necessary?" She lifted her eyebrow, knowing he would see her irritation as well as if he was standing beside her.

"Come on, Tasha! We're in Havana! If we can't sing it here, where can we sing it?" He was trying the whiny voice again. She wasn't buying it this time.

"No." She turned back to the monitor, initiating the data download. There was a moment of blissful silence before she was once again bombarded with a serenade that would make a dying cat sound like a sweet lullaby.

_**At the Copa, Copacabana  
The hottest spot north of Havana  
At the Copa, Copacabana  
Music and passion were always the fashion  
At the Copa...they fell in love**_

He had just finished the chorus when the sound of a zipper filtered in between the words of the song. "Um, Nat, what are you doing?"

"It's hot. I can't concentrate in this suit." She could hear him shift and clear his throat. "Why Clint, am I causing you some discomfort?" She smiled a wicked smile as she heard the rustle of movement on his side of the comm link.

"Ehm, so, no more singing?" He lapsed into silence and she returned her clothing to its proper place. Needless to say, his mid-mission serenades died a quick death.

#&#&

November, Berlin

The party was in full swing, with all the glitz and glitter one would expect from the upper echelons of society. Clint's gaze danced around the ballroom as he perched in the rafters of the ballroom, landing lightly on each of the players identified in their briefing. Natasha glided from conversation to conversation, working her way into the notice of the primary target.

As he covered her, looking for any changes in situation, the hired musician began a piano solo which filtered up to his ear.

_**Some folks like to get away  
Take a holiday from the neighborhood  
Hop a flight to Miami Beach  
Or to Hollywood  
But I'm taking a Greyhound  
On the Hudson River Line  
I'm in a New York state of mind **_

_**It comes down to reality  
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide  
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside  
I don't have any reasons  
I've left them all behind  
I'm in a New York state of mind**_

Suddenly, Clint caught a subtle tensing of Nat's shoulders, a change in her posture, and immediately, he began scanning the crowd for the threat. When he found nothing, his gaze darted back and he was shocked to find her flashing green eyes locked on him. Just then, he realized what he had missed. He had been singing the song without thought, singing in his real church-choir-solo, the-lord-has-blessed-you-with-the-voice-of-an-angel voice.

"Shit. Shitshitshit," he mumbled under his breath. But of course she heard that, too. Slowly, menacingly, she smiled up at him. "Shit."

Clint immediately turned off the comm and pulled out his phone, dialing Coulson. He didn't even wait for a greeting from their handler.

"We need separate extraction points."

"Mission parameters call for a single extraction. What happened?" Coulson was already in crisis mode, ready to shift resources for a mission failure.

"Let's just say that if you want to avoid internal agent conflict paperwork, you will set up separate extractions."

Coulson sighed. "What did you do?" he asked, even as he alerted the med unit that they would be receiving a patient before the evening was out.

Needless to say, Clint was sporting a limp for several days.

#&#&

**A/N: This came to me immediately after I wrote the first drabble, as I could not bear having a tone-deaf Clint. A couple reviewers mentioned the irony of the last song choice in chapter one. I have, in fact, seen that video, though I wasn't thinking about it when writing, I just have an unhealthy obsession with that song. Lucky coincidence. Those reviewers can take credit for song choice at the end of this chapter. I get goosebumps when I hear Jeremy Renner sing, so I had to use it for the reveal of his deception. Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! *glancing meaningfully at the review button* Peez? See you soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This drabble is a bit different in its point of view. I am basing the whole thing on the fact that SHIELD is a government agency and those are usually filled with a certain amount of bureaucracy and paper pushing.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little bit. **

**IMPORTANT: As I don't speak most of the languages I will mention in this one, I will ask you to use your imagination. Underlined = audio recording; underlined, italicized = audio recording of foreign language. ( ) around the narrator's reactions as he listens to the audio. Hope that makes sense. I will try to make it work as I see it in my head, but my head can be a bag of cats, so no promises. ;) *ducks in anticipation of rotten tomatoes***

SHIELD Helicarrier, Transcribing department

Agent Howard entered the room quietly, respectful of the half dozen agents diligently pouring over the hours of mission audio and recording it into written format. He swiftly strolled to his station, eager to begin his next assignment. When he reached his desk, he quickly spied the package in his inbox. He picked it up and read the case sheet, groaning. Howard looked at his supervisor with exasperation.

"Really? Why do I have one of _their_ missions? This is the third time in a row!" he whined at Agent Grammer, but she just rolled her eyes at him and turned her back.

That proved it! She did hear him that day when he was commenting on the attractiveness of her rear-end in the break-room. She must be punishing him. This was so unfair.

Howard sat down in a huff and plugged in his trusty earphones and started to play the recording. He stretched his fingers, knowing he had to be ready for anything. If he ever saw them face-to-face, he would love to give those two a piece of his mind. Yes, he definitely would. The audio began rolling and he immediately knew this was going to be a bad one.

Barton: I'm bored. (Howard cringed, knowing what must be coming.)

Romanoff: I apologize, is my witty repartee not enough to keep you entertained?

Barton: As much as I love to hear you whisper sweet nothings in my ear, I feel like something is missing. *snapping sound* I know! I haven't messed with them yet. A mission isn't complete if we don't have a rousing game of Screw-With-The-Scription! (Howard groaned, he knew what that meant. Damn them!)

Romanoff: To the left, mark the time, first-shift guard exiting. (Howard sighed. She had such a wondrous voice. Too bad she was prone to such violence.)

Barton: Noted. So are you in? Come on, please? (Hopefully, he thought, they would get too caught in the mission to continue with their stupid "game.")

Romanoff: Only if I get first pick. (Howard took a deep breath. Really, this bullying behavior was so uncalled-for.)

Barton: Why, of course! Let's allow that talented tongue of yours work its magic. (Howard wondered how the agent was still alive, addressing such a dangerous woman in so familiar speech pattern.)

_Romanoff: Watch it, Barton._ (Hell, was that Algerian? He flipped through his language databases.)

_Barton: What? I love your command of language. *sound of impact, unknown origin* Romanoff, is that your knife that just landed next to my head?_ (Mandarin? No, Cantonese. Howard was so horrible at Asian languages!)

_Romanoff: I don't know what you mean._ (That was definitely Turkish. Howard quickly pulled up the database, hoping this would be the last language change.)

_Barton: Note to self, no more tongue talk._ (Portuguese, he thought. Or not.)

_Romanoff: Are you even paying attention? Transport truck coming in from the east._ (Hindi. Curse them, that was going to take forever to look up.)

_Barton: I saw it before you so rudely violated my personal space with your weapon._ (Finally, one Howard was fluent in, Arabic.)

_Romanoff: I could violate your personal space with my deadliest weapon, but I am afraid you would enjoy it too much._ (Surely they had to be confused by now. Howard's mind was spinning. Italian?)

_Barton: Such promises._ (This was clearly Russian, but Agent Howard wondered how such a gruff language could be made to sound so…indecent.)

_Romanoff: Target exiting south building, prepare for extraction. _(Polish. This was ridiculous. They were wasting his precious time.)

_Barton: Since we have so little time left, let's go for broke. The scribes will love this one! *static sounds* On my count. Guards neutralized in five, four, three, two, one. *sounds of weapons firing* Guards down. Nat, all clear, move in._ (What was he saying? Howard found himself completely stumped.)

_Romanoff: Target acquired, restrained and ready for extraction. Are we done playing with the little paper pushers?_ (…)

_Barton: Never done. Gotta keep them on their feet, but we will wait 'til next mission to continue their torment._ (Howard played that last bit of audio over and over. He scoured his knowledge of languages and could not place it! Finally, after hours of listening, putting him incredibly behind schedule in his important work, he figured it out! PIGLATIN! They had been speaking in PIGLATIN! It was just too much!)

*audio recording ends*

That's it, Howard thought, he wouldn't take it anymore! These agents needed to be put in their place, and he would be the one to do it. First thing tomorrow, he was going to tell Director Fury what they were doing. It just wasn't fair!

**A/N: This will be a bit longer than my usual note. Several reviewers have mentioned having more romance in the drabbles, and I wanted to clear that up. All of these drabbles are set during pre-movie times, and in my fictional avengers world, I am keeping them platonic and completely blind to their mutual feelings for each other prior to Loki's possession of Clint. Therefore, I will have heavy hints of flirtation, and the occasional slip of underlying emotion. However, once I finish my post-movie story, I will start posting as many romantic silly drabbles as you would like to see. I hope I haven't lost any readers in this decision. Again, thank you so much for the reviews/favs/alerts. They mean the world to me!**

**Also, be sure to check out Blam-Like-A-Gun, Cookie-Stories, and Sinkme! They are fantabulous authors! They have been incredibly sweet in their support of my scribbles, and they are always inspiring me. **

**See ya soon!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: This one is entirely in Nat's perspective. This is actually a lead up to another mission drabble, so it is a bit shorter, but the next part will be up soon. Hope you enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little bit. Bummer. **

**&#**

Natasha smoothed her dress and waited for the elevator, eyes scanning the hotel lobby for exits, threats. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she subtly activated her comm.

"Status?" she said in a low tone, turning to step into the thankfully empty elevator.

"Proceed to top floor. The roof access door is down the west hall. Your contact will be waiting for you." She took a deep breath as she heard Clint's voice filter back to her. She hit the appropriate button as the doors slid close. She watched the floors tick by, mentally getting into character.

"Where are you? I might need eyes if this doesn't play out well. I feel like I am flying blind." She was had only been called in by Clint an hour ago. Dark mission. No briefing. Just two agents. She didn't even have time to plan possible escape routes. Not how she liked to operate.

"I'm in position. I'll have eyes on you the minute you step out. Are you up to speed on the plan?" Clint's voice and presence calmed some of her nerves. The elevator slid smoothly to a stop, and she stepped off cautiously and turned down the hall, eyes dancing around for any potential threats. At the end, she saw her exit and she strode quickly, not wanted to remain so exposed.

"Approaching access door. All clear?" She played her hand over the knife hidden at her waist, ready for all contingencies.

"Clear. Contact is at the northwest corner of the roof," Clint replied. "I have your back."

She stepped cautiously out onto what appeared to be a small courtyard, complete with potted plants, a small table and chairs, a cake, and….Clint. What the hell?

"What the hell?" The door slammed behind her as she gave him questioning look. He was standing by the table, dressed in a blazer and a white button down. He gave her a guilty smile and pulled out a chair.

"Happy Birthday!" Natasha shook her head at Clint's words and looked around, waiting for the catch.

"It isn't my birthday." She was still frozen at the door, unable to process this strange turn of events. Her whole focus had been in mission-mode, and she was having difficulty finding her mental balance.

"I know! But you refused to tell me, and I couldn't even find it in your file, so I picked a day." He abandoned his attempt to get her to sit and started fiddling around the table, uncovering a dish and lighting a candle on the cake.

His actions finally shook her from her shock, and she walked forward hesitantly. "You did all this?"

"Of course. It isn't much, just some cake and ice cream. Can't have a birthday without that. I figured we could eat the cake first, then dinner at that diner you like so much. Dessert should always be first." He smiled at her as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"So…no mission."

"No mission. Had to get you up here somehow. Surprise. I was going to invite a bunch of people, have music and stuff, but Coulson smacked my upside the head and I agreed." Her lips twitched at that, having witnessed Coulson's correction methods more than a few times.

She finally sat down, deciding that she would have to humor him after he went to all this trouble. Clint served her an enormous slice of cake and topped it off with ice cream and chocolate syrup. He told her about his time with the carnival, the crazy people in and out of the tents, and he even showed her how to make a balloon animal, a skill he had not yet lost. Natasha was surprised to find herself enjoying the evening. She had never celebrated her birthday, at least not since before her parents' death.

As he began to clean up the table, she stilled his hand, her eyes asking him the question that had been on her lips since she walked into the courtyard.

"Because everyone deserves to be celebrated." She didn't respond to his answer, but she smiled. Really smiled. Once he had finished cleaning he walked towards the door, throwing a question over his shoulder.

"So, my darling Natasha, now that I have told you a little about myself, do I get to ask some questions about you?" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. Natasha inclined her head, despite the knowledge that she would likely pay for her agreement.

As she stood up and Clint opened the door before her, she suddenly stopped, remembering something he had said before. He tilted his head questioningly at her hesitation.

"So, you read my file?" Her tone was very casual, a sure sign that he was in big trouble.

"Shit. Shitshitshit." And with that, Clint disappeared through the door like a tiger was on his tail.

**&#**

**A/N: This drabble is a bit shorter, but I wanted to show a sweet side to their friendship. I also wanted to step up the next drabble, in which Clint finally gets to ask Natasha some questions. And Clint will definitely find an interesting way to ask his questions. I hope you readers don't find them too OOC. My impression of their relationship is that he makes her lighter, and that she gives him someone to connect with, over the comms or in the real world. I have already started the next drabble, but I do hope you will let me know what you think of this one! Peez? **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This is, in a way, a continuation of the last drabble. This is all from Clint's perspective and dialogue. I will kick myself for any errors later. Hope you like!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little bit. Bummer. **

* * *

The ballroom was filled with elegance and excess, glittering jewels paired with extravagant gowns, all to show just how very much money they could afford to throw away on such trivial things as rocks and cloth. Clint was well above the superficiality of it all, literally and figuratively, as he observed the spectacle from the rafters.

Natasha, however, was wading through these self-important citizens, shadowing their latest assignment. He was apparently very important to someone, enough that one credible threat left the Council in a tizzy and meant their immediate reassignment to a babysitting detail. They were both thrilled. Natasha, however, had gotten the raw end of the deal. She had to dress up and hang on the egotistical ass's arm for an entire night. Luckily, the champagne was expensive and flowing freely. That gave Clint an excellent idea.

"So…Tasha. I seem to remember you saying you would tell me more about yourself. I think I am going to take you up on that." Clint perceived a slight arch in Natasha's eyebrow as she turned her face in his direction. "Oh, don't do that eyebrow twitch at me. You agreed. I saw it before I fled your wrath." He grinned masochistically at the memory. She tucked her hair behind her ear, telling him she was listening.

"I've been inspired by the liberal flow of champagne your evening's companions are indulging in. I think a rousing game of Never Have I Ever is called for. Unfortunately, since I am not available to partake in the drinking and you are not able to partake in the questioning, we will just have to keep it all about you." Clint could not contain the chuckle as a sarcastic look flitted across her face before she reclaimed the look of ennui that her cover required. "Yes, I do plan to milk this opportunity. Do you expect anything less? Do you know the game?" She tilted her head. Explain, she had asked.

"Rules are simple. Let's see. If you have done what I say, you sip. If not, you don't. Very simple. So…Never have I ever… ridden on a rollercoaster," Natasha immediately took a sip.

"Hmmm. I will have to compare rollercoaster histories with you. On to the next. Never have I ever… watched E.T." Natasha moved fluidly around the ballroom as their mission schmoozed with his potential campaign contributors, but she didn't drink. "No way. How have you not? I am fixing this tragedy. No one should be so deprived." Her lips quirked at his fervent declaration. Amusement is good. Maybe he would get out of this little informal interrogation without significant bodily injury.

"Never have I ever… eaten cotton candy." She sipped from her glass with a delicate shudder. "I saw that! You ate too much, didn't you."

"Never have I ever… spent a rainy day reading in bed." Again, no sip. But also no surprise for Clint. She rarely let herself step back and relax.

"Never have I ever… kissed a girl." Natasha stopped so abruptly that her "companion" nearly tripped over her. She turned her face upward and unleashed the full power of her arched eyebrow. "What? I'm a guy. It would be against guy code if I didn't ask at least one pervy question." She shook her head slightly, but took a sip. Yep, he didn't mind knowing that.

"Never have I ever… had a celebration in my honor." The hints of a genuine smile graced her red lips as she sipped once again. Clint was glad that her birthday party had given her reason to smile. She didn't have nearly enough good memories in his opinion. But he was working on it.

"Never have I ever… sung Karaoke." Sip. Another recent memory. This time he really sang for her. Part of his plea deal to receive a lighter punishment for tricking her.

"Never have I ever… regretted saying yes to the charming Agent Barton when he offered you a choice." Clint asked this one softly, hesitantly. This was his real reason for starting this game, they both knew it. Without hesitation, she raised her glass in a silent toast, but didn't drink. She didn't regret her decision to follow him that night. Natasha knew that his question was his way of saying he didn't regret offering.

Their babysitting job seemed to be winding down as the weight of the gowns and jewelry and pretenses began to tire the guests. No more moneyed campaign contributors to draw in, no more reason to prance about. As the politician, began to make his way out of the room, he had one last smart ass remark to use.

"Never have I ever… admired my, I mean kicked my partner's ass while sparring." He was anticipated her answer to his joking final question, but when she took a sip, he scoffed. "You've never kicked my ass. Wait. That means…wait, what?" She just licked her lips and gave a knowing smile.

* * *

**A/N: Hehe. She is mean. I am currently working on my post-movie (and post-romantic awareness) story, and I have all sorts of ideas for what Clint's comm games will entail once they are in a relationship. Raise your hands if you are interested in reading some of those? Just let me know. ;) *eyes the review button meaningfully***


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: If you don't know what Mystery Science Theatre is, it might help to look it up before you read this chapter. Also, to every single reviewer, I must say how very much I appreciated all of your kind, enthusiastic words. You keep me writing! Here we go with one more! Clint's commentary is in bold italics.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little bit. Bummer. **

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Hotel bars, the sanctuary of the migrant lonely, and the disgustingly desperate. This particular one was a bit more up-scale, open-air on the roof, mood lighting was subtle, but it didn't do much to disguise the naked want written on the faces of every man present. Clint felt sorry for the poor bastards, all of them lusting after the one woman that would most definitely not be going back to their rooms with them. Okay, maybe not so sorry. Ogling assholes.

Natasha perched on the stool, sipping delicately on the watered-down drink the gentleman at the end of the bar had sent over. So far, three drinks, two business cards, and a handful of propositions had been sent her way. The only person who hadn't hit on her was the one person she needed to get close to, and she was starting to get frustrated. She needed his access card, and her window of opportunity was dwindling. Another man walked out of the elevator, surveyed the occupants and started to make a beeline for the seat next to her.

"Oh, I think this one is a keeper. I'm thinking he is a 'did it hurt when you fell from heaven?' type, what do you say?" Clint had been playing Mystery Science Theatre-Bad Pick-up Lines Edition all night. Every time a man had approached, all she could hear was her partner whispering over them, using every cliché men had ever dreamed up.

Thirty-something, balding lawyer. _**"Are you tired because you've been running through my mind all night?"**_

Muscled, spray-tanned, mid-20s. Personal Trainer. _**"**__**Was your father a thief? 'Cause someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes."**_

Slacks and a polo, flushed from the free-flowing alcohol at his bachelor party, which was happening at the corner table. _**"I'd better get a library card, because I'm checking you out."**_

60-year old, ill-fitting suit, lecher. _**"Do you have a mirror in your pocket? Because I could see myself in your pants."**_

Surely this boy wasn't legal drinking age. _**"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"**_

Natasha would never admit it, but she was enjoying his running commentary tonight. It was much more entertaining than what the bar flies were coming up with to try and catch her.

"Cut that out! The last guy thought I was smiling at him, and it took me ten minutes to shake him." She whispered into her drink, shuffling quickly to gather her purse and head to the ladies room, much to the disappointment of the latest arrival. She touched up her make-up in the mirror, adjusted her cleavage, and plotted.

"Tash, this is taking too long. Any way you can speed up the process?" They had to get the card before their mark decided he was ready to turn in for the night.

"I have this. $100 says I have the card in less than ten minutes." Natasha didn't wait for an answer, but instead strolled out of the ladies room, carving a path straight for the target. She tapped him on the shoulder, pressed her body against him, whispered in his ear, and took his hand as he followed her from the bar like a puppy dog, complete with a hanging tongue.

"What the hell did you say to him? The poor boy looks in shock." Clint watched as the pair disappeared into the elevator. He quickly re-sighted to the hotel room they were using as rendezvous, ignoring the whispers and the rustling over the comm. Within a few moments, Natasha led the man into the room. Clint could tell he was already under the influence of the drugs Natasha kept in a vial tucked inside her dress. She pushed him down on the bed, and within a couple minutes, he lay unmoving, divested of his pass and his consciousness.

"Nat, we have about 20 minutes. Get changed." Clint looked at his watch and then back at his partner. She turned to the window and gave him a look. "What? A gentleman doesn't peek. Just get going."

Natasha turned and began unzipping her silk dress, sliding it down her body. Clint tried to draw his eyes away, but that proved an impossible task. As she was first revealed and then concealed by her uniform and gear, she did not turn back to the window. Once she was dressed, she looked over her shoulder, and he could swear she was making eye contact with him, one eyebrow curving sarcastically.

"Gentleman, hmm?" She strode out the door without another word.

Clint scrambled to his feet, relocating for extraction. "Shit." He was in trouble, he thought with a grin, but damn if it wasn't worth it.

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**A/N: Okay, this will be the last pre-relationship drabble. I will begin posting my movie/post-movie story Tuesday, and after I get a couple chapters into that, I will start posting drabbles of a more romantic nature. These drabbles are so much fun, I can't leave them for long. Last time, I asked for raised hands (I am a teacher, after all) but this time I am going for something more ambitious. If you want to see some flirty, sexy banter from our favorite assassins, dance for me! I am not picky, any dance will do for a review! See you soon!**


	7. Chapter 7

A Still Small Voice

Chapter 7

A/N: So, I am back with more chapters! Didn't mean for it to be so long between, but I wanted to get a few chapters into Can't Protect Against Yourself (shameless plug, check) before I added over here. Now, if you are reading CPAY and do not wish to be spoiled about the outcome (no details, just general), Turn Back! Now that that is done, the chapters from here on out will be post-CPAY, as well as post-Clint/Natasha established relationship. Therefore, the tone of the discussions may be a bit, ehm, romantical. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: *scratches lottery ticket* Dang! Guess I still don't. Boo.

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"Three whole weeks, Tash! Three! No missions, no meetings. A real break…at the same time." Clint peered down into the hotel lobby from a balcony window to where Natasha was sitting. "All you have to do is get rid of the baggage and we are off the clock."

The "baggage" was a high value asset wringing his hands as he sat in the chair opposite his beautiful partner. They had rescued the man from his understandably irate former employer, who had hoped to eliminate him and the information stored within his balding head. And who said working for human traffickers didn't have perks. Now all they had to do was hand the twerp over to the Asset Management team for processing and they were on leave. And of course, A.M. was late.

"Where the hell are they? Damnit." There was a subtle twitch of Natasha's lips, and a not-so-subtle roll of her eyes, at his whiney tone. "So where are we going to go? We still haven't decided. What about an island? Sun. Sand. Rolling around together in the waves."

Natasha shifted in her seat, hands seeming to fret as she straightened her top, at least to a stranger's eye. Clint read her signal loud and clear, though. "Fine, no sand. Gets in unfortunate places, anyway. What about a villa in the south of France? Very peaceful. Stark even offered to loan us his jet." Again, Natasha nixed his idea.

Clint's one-sided vacation planning was interrupted when he spotted two men hovering just inside the hotel entrance. "At your 8'oclock, black suit and grey suit. Lingering I bit long, running facial recognition." Clint captured their images and uploaded to SHIELD. Within a few moments, the men came back clean and Clint turned back to his partner.

He had just come up with another destination when the two A.M. agents entered the lobby, walking in looking for all the world like they weren't over two hours late. "Pick up is here. Breaking down and packing up." Clint began to stow his bow in its case as he saw Nat handing over the paperwork and their charge, who seemed to have calmed somewhat now that he was no longer in the custody of someone he so obviously feared.

When he looked up again, Natasha, as well as the pick-up team, were no longer in view. His eyes danced around the room, to the elevators, but still couldn't spot her. "Nat? Where did you go?...Nat?" He was beginning to wonder if something had gone sideways when he sensed her presence just behind him. He turned with a smile, until he saw the look on her face.

Heat flared in him as her eyes slid over his body then she reached out and pushed him into the chair just behind him. She slid into his lap, leaned over him, lips to his ears and blew softly.

"For the next three weeks, we will locking ourselves in your apartment, and I don't intend to come out until we have….explore the possibilities… of _every_ available surface. Does this plan meet with your approval?" Clint had a difficult time breathing as he nodded enthusiastically. She slipped out from under his now roaming hands, and sashayed towards the door, pausing to glance over her shoulder, eyebrow quirked.

"And I think three weeks will be enough time for me to punish you." He shifted his eyes away from her ass when her words finally computed in his blood-starved brain. "You talked to Stark. Not a good decision. But I promise not to go too _**hard**_ on you." She smirked and darted her eyes down his body. "Now don't forget your gear. I'll get the car."

Natasha pulled the door closed, leaving Clint still panting in the chair.

"Shit." He shook his head, and then began to grin.

Clint jumped up quickly, grabbed his gear, and scurried out the door, eager to catch up (but definitely not get ahead of) his partner. This was going to be good. "Shiiiiiiit."

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A/N: Soooo. What you think? It is my birthday week, so I have a birthday wish. I want reviews filled with your fav Clint/Natasha stories. I need you guys to keep me in awesome fiction. I also would love to hear what you think about this new aspect of their relationship! And if you want to know how they got here, feel free to check my other fic. Hint. ;) Hope you enjoyed! See you soon!


	8. Chapter 8

I. Am. So. Sorry. I cannot believe I have let this much time slip by between chapters! I have had ¾ of the next chapter written for most of this time, but I have let the crazy of real life get in the way of completing it. Now I didn't post this message just to apologize. I wanted to let you know that I will be updating this story and _Can't Protect Against Yourself_ by next Sunday.

The other reason I am posting is to get input on a name for my series of stories. I have finally received an invitation to the AO3 fanfiction site, and I am at a loss for what to use for my three stories. So…what do you think? Any good ideas? I can't wait to see what you think! So I will see you in the week! Happy Holidays! :D


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